Made For Greater Things
by Siri2
Summary: When Faramir is harshly scolded by his father for something he does unwittingly he takes the words to heart and it is up to Boromir to show him differently. (Vignette)


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Made for Greater Things

Author: Hannah the Crazy, Starry-Eyed Visionary

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Rating: G

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Genre: General/Vignette

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Timeframe: Year 2993 of the Third Age (Faramir is 10, Boromir is 15)

Summary: When Faramir is harshly scolded by his father for something he does unwittingly he takes the words to heart and it is up to Boromir to show him differently. (Vignette)

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Spoilers: None

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Disclaimer: This world is not mine, it is the sole property of Tolkein and all the characters are his own, but I am not getting paid so I guess that's okay! :D 

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Disclaimer Notes: There is little known of Faramir and Boromir's childhood, though you get the impression that Denathor's constant disdain for his youngest son has been present since his childhood. Finduilas is said to have died of heartbreak and depression and nothing is said otherwise so some of this I built on my own ideas. I guess that's it, let me know if you think of anything else.

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Note: If you don't like Boromir and are perfectly happy to continue not liking Boromir, don't read this story. :) 

*Italics*

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Made for Greater Things

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"You useless boy!" Denathor thundered, his eyes a rage, his fists clenched in a furious grief, his whole being flaming at the unfortunate child.

"I-I'm sorry father." The boy apologized trembling under his father's wrath. "I did not mean to, please, I beg you believe me."

Denathor let a forceful cuff land on the side of the young ten-year-old's head knocking him harder than he had meant and the boy fell to the floor. "Do you know what you have done, Faramir?!" The Steward demanded angrily. "Do you know what you have destroyed?!"

Faramir's eyes were large as he looked up at his father from the floor, he felt a horrible guilt tremble through him. He knew what he had done was destroyed something precious, but he had not meant to do so. 

On the wall of his father's room there had been a painting, a beautiful copy of his young mother's face, a mother who had died but five years ago today. The cruel irony of this was burning unpleasantly in the pit of Faramir's stomach. He had not meant to do what he had done, but when he had come into the room he had not realized that his father had placed the painting on a table below it's usual place on the wall. Denathor had again been mourning the loss of his wife on this, the anniversary of Finduilas' death. Faramir had come into the room hastily, and had run right into the table jerking it hard by mistake, by the time he had seen the damage he had done the painting had fallen to the floor, the frame breaking uselessly and granite floor tearing the image beyond repair. 

Faramir felt more horrible now than he ever had, his father's eyes frightened him, but he knew it was his own fault; he should have been more careful.

"You thoughtless, foolish boy!" Denathor continued to rail on his young son until Faramir felt he could not bear it any longer, then his father said something that Faramir could truly not bear. "It was not enough that *your* birth weakened my dear Finduilas to the point of death! You destroy my only memory of her!"

Faramir felt as though someone had just slammed him with cold iron. He? Responsible for his mother's death? It made his heart break just to think of it. But it must be true he realized, why else would his mother have died at such a young age. His whole body shook with unshed sobs as he thought of what his father had said.

"Get out you stupid child!" Denathor stormed, whipping past his son who was still on the floor. Faramir got to his feet instantly and fled from the room, his raven toned hair flying about his flushed face. He felt himself brush against someone in the doorway however did not pause to see who it was, but ran on, heedless of where he was going.

The young man stood in the entrance, his eyes rooted on his father. Quickly he took in the scene, his enraged father, the shattered painting, and his younger brother in tears running from the room. Boromir had been there to hear what his father had said, beckoned by the cries of rage and grief he had come into the doorway and the words had deeply pierced his own heart. 

"Father," Boromir spoke up softly. Denathor whirled on him, his eyes still held a raging fire. "Father, why did you speak to Faramir thus?"

Denathor turned away slightly, grief tinting his words to vengeance. "He is a stupid boy, he has no thought, it would have been better that he had not been born, then I would not have lost Finduilas and you would still have a mother, my son."

Boromir looked aghast at the words, but he knew his father well. He did not mean the words he said, he spoke only from grief; his father had never taken loss well.

"You mean your words not Father." Boromir spoke knowingly, moving across the room and placing a hand on Denathor's arm. "Faramir did not do this out of contempt for you, nor to destroy anything you hold dear. It was a misstep of his, and a mistake, but it is one that he cannot take full blame for. Our mother is dead because she lacked the will to live."

Denathor turned away from Boromir and said nothing for a long time. Finally he whispered so that Boromir could barely hear. "Leave me." 

Boromir bowed and left the room and immediately turned down the hall. He was but five years Faramir's senior, and though he had always been the favored of the two brothers he loved his younger brother dearly and did not wish to leave him alone with the harsh words of their father.

Faramir sobbed softly into his arms he could not stem the tide of grief and guilt. He wished that he had never come into the room. Why had he been so hasty?! He felt so ashamed of himself he knew he could never face his father again.

"Interesting place you choose to think." An amused voice spoke up behind him. Faramir jumped, startled by the voice and looked up through tear stained eyes, turning around to see Boromir walking carefully down the gently inclining roof of the stables.

"W-what are you doing here, Boromir?" He asked brokenly.

"Looking for you, of course." Boromir smiled lightly as he dropped down beside his brother. "What are you thinking of?"

Faramir ran a fevered hand across his warm cheeks trying hard to wipe away the tears. "I-I cannot see father again." He admitted softly, not exactly answering the question.

"Why not?" 

"Know you not what I have done?" Faramir suddenly felt frightened, what would Boromir say when he told him what he had done? He did not think he could bear his older brother's disdain.

"I know." Boromir responded quietly.

Faramir felt relief pour over him, but then he felt dread once more. "I am sorry." He whispered choking on another sob, feeling a sudden build up of his emotions.

"Sorry?" His brother questioned gently, and the gentleness of his voice was too much for young Faramir. 

"I-I am sorry I provoked our father to anger, I am sorry I ruined the painting of our mother, I am sorry I was born and that I made her weak, and that she died, I am sorry that-that I am so useless and that I cannot do anything for our people, and that I-I cannot-I--" Faramir broke off as his tearful tirade was finally spent, he could think of so much more he was sorry for but Boromir's hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he instead broke down into tears. 

The sobs wracked his body and he barely felt the comforting arm that slid across his shaking shoulders. Boromir let his brother cry it out and waited until Faramir's tears were only hiccups in his breath. Then Boromir gently brushed Faramir's hair from his tear stained cheeks.

"Faramir, please do not think yourself so meaningless. You are so much more than even our father knows. His words were those of one who can not see past his own grief. He longs for our mother and he longs for her to the point of ignoring much around him. But I know your worth, I know you are my brother, and you are my friend." Faramir could not meet his brother's eyes, but he finally brought his gaze up slightly. "You are not the cause of our mother's death any more than you are the cause of your own life. You were born into this world, Faramir, born to be someone, to do something. I know not what that thing may be, but I am convinced that you can be great and do great things, and I am sure you were made for greater things than this."

"I'm not sure I know how to do greater things." Faramir whispered.

"You will, Faramir." Boromir assured him. "Someday, you will know." 

Faramir finally brought his eyes up to meet his brother's and smiled. "Thank you Boromir."

"You are entirely welcome, Faramir." Boromir leaned forward and kissed his brother gently on the brow before rising. "Now, shall we get down off this roof before one of us breaks our neck?"

Faramir laughed and nodded. "All right."

Boromir suddenly pulled Faramir up beside him and raised his voice so that many around them could hear. "Make way for the Sons of Gondor!" Faramir laughed again and followed his older brother down from the roof.

Somewhere distant, yet close enough to hear all that was spoken, stood an aged man, his gray hair strung about his face as he leaned on his staff watching the two young ones closely. A smile lighted his face and he watched the two boys drop down from their perch on the roof top. "Yes Boromir, he will be great." The Wizard agreed softly. "And do very great things." 

Then he turned from them and began to travel once again down the long road.

THE END

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